Nowhere But Here
by bluelily3
Summary: Mere weeks after the Majin incident, Vegeta faces the grim reality of what he may have done. Although, he feels redeemed, he starts to realize that he might have left some scars among those in his family. Most of all Bulma, who gives him the shock of his life. ONE-SHOT


It had been a couple of weeks since Goku and Vegeta had brought down Buu and saved the planet. After he'd gotten home, the Saiyan prince rested for a few days. He hadn't slept in a long time, not even since he had died the second time around. So, when his body hit the bed, he went out so deeply that he wasn't even aware of what galaxy he was in.

After he'd rested, he resumed his training. Part of his mind wandered to Goku's long golden hair, and he told himself that he should think about working his way toward SS3. But after a day or two, he realized he didn't have the drive to beat Kakarrot anymore, and he just made up his own goals. After all, he was his own person. He could be anything he wanted, and only foolish little boys tried to copy everything their friends did. _Friends…_ He laughed at the idea. However, it was true. The lower class Saiyan felt a bit like a younger brother to him now. There was still a rivalry, but the older Vegeta grew, the more he felt comfortable in his own skin. Sure, his chi was a little lower than Kakarrot's, but it was his own, and he could make anything happen with it. He was entertaining the idea of training with some sort of entity. After he had heard about Kakarrot's god-friend "King Kai" he wondered how many others were out there.

It was evening, and Vegeta was just about to reach his daily goal. He was pushing harder and harder each day, like he had done since before he could remember. His father had taught him the technique. If he paused, letting himself breathe, or pouring water over his hot skin, he could hear the old king's voice, almost as clear as when he was a child.

"Set a personal goal, son. Even if it's just a small one. Don't push too hard. Day after day, when you get to your goal, set it a little higher." He had taught the little prince how to read his own chi with a scouter.

"See that? 10 points higher than when I last saw you. And it hasn't even been a week." The child had nodded.

"I set my goal to two points higher, every day."

"That's good, my son. Now, when you feel comfortable, set it to three." He remembered nodding again, though he was a touch bewildered. How far would he suggest next time?

But the king had only smiled at his son's widened eyes.

"Don't ever go any higher than five in one day, though."

"What would happen then, Papa?"

"You would get too strong."

Though his father had smiled, there was a sadness in his eyes, and he hadn't understood back then. Later, when Frieza came to take him away, he started to. There really had been such a thing as "too strong".

When he stopped for the day, panting with exhaustion, a flash of light burned in his mind. He could hear the stadium again, and the screaming. He didn't understand why this should haunt him. He had killed so many times before this, and he barely remembered any of it. He still had nightmares, of course, but back in his youth, he hadn't known that killing was wicked. It was just a dirty job to do, for a tyrannical warlord. He had started out working under blackmail.

"Do the job, or I will have to make a special visit to your father, boy." Freeza's voice still found its way in his head from time to time. Resisting the urge to spit on the floor, he walked over to the main throw switch for the room. He always turned it off after he left. Once, he had forgotten, and a circuit had blown, setting his training arena on fire. It could be fixed easily, but he'd had to suffer a cold glare from Bulma for a couple of days.

As he thought of that, the power shut down on its own. His hand was above the switch, and it was still up. He blinked, looking around at the dark room. There must be some main controls somewhere else. But then, who had thrown them? After a moment or two, he shrugged. Maybe he'd talk to Bulma about it. Could have been a malfunction. But as he went to the door, pressing the green button on the panel, it didn't slide open. He grunted with annoyance, and tried again. After a handful of times, he decided to stop and take a deep breath. Breaking things wouldn't help. It's not like he couldn't just pass out and sleep here. But his skin was clammy with cooling sweat, and his stomach was working on nothing but acid. He growled into the quiet room. Surely Bulma could get him out. He closed his eyes, trying to locate her chi. Sometimes he could talk to her using telepathy. It was a lost art, one that he rarely used, but it had worked with Nappa. He scoffed to himself. That big idiot was easier to reach than Bulma. His brain was almost empty, so it was like striding into a room with no door. His wife was more guarded. He had the key to her door, but she still didn't always let him in, if she was too busy. Reaching out to her, it seemed it was that way now. He attempted to try again, when he felt it. A surge of hot rage lashed out at him, and he stumbled backwards with a hiss. His hand smacked against the arena wall before he could fall down.

"What the hell-" He said out loud. Then he heard the sound of the door opening. It rushed upwards with a loud beep. Bulma stood there. He was relieved for a nanosecond before he read her chi. It was higher than normal and tight like a rubber band was in her belly. The air fairly crackled. He quickly searched his mind of all things he could have said or done today that had offended her. The woman was impossible sometimes, and as enigmatic as a puzzle. She would always get mad at something that had already sailed far out of his mind. Hesitantly, he looked at her face.

What he saw in her eyes made him recoil. There was anger there too, but with it, some sort of reluctant sadness.

"Bulma?" His voice rasped out of a throat suddenly gone dry. "What's going on?" As she continued to walk briskly toward him, a thought occurred to him.

"Did _you_ throw the power? Were you the one that locked me in? What in seven hells did I do to make you…" He trailed off when she got closer to him.

"Vegeta." Her voice was firm, but her hands were shaking.

"What? Will you just tell me-"  
"I want you out." Her eyes were fiery with determination, but he could still sense an undertone of something not quite right. She folded her arms across her chest, as if protecting herself. From what? Him? He had never hurt her, not since day one. He stood there, blinking at her.

"What?" Was all he could say.

"I said, I want you out." This time, he heard a tremble in her voice.

"If you want me out, then why did you lock me in?" He tried to go around her now. He could smell food somewhere in the house, and it was calling to him. But she put her small hand to his chest, and pressed firmly.

"Vegeta. I want you out of this house. I want you...to leave." Her eyes blazed blue, and he could sense more anger now than sadness.

"Bulma, what the hell-"

"GET OUT!" She suddenly screamed. "I want you out of this house, right now!" She surged forward, catching him off guard. Her hands grabbed at him, and he could feel her fingernails cutting him. It was like she was possessed. He tried to grab her shoulders. If he could just keep her still, get her explain herself. Get her to calm down, for god's sake…

"Bulma!" He growled. "What the hell is the matter with you? I didn't even do anything!"

"Yes, you _did,_ Vegeta. And you can't take it back." She looked into his eyes again, and a wave of apprehension washed over him as he found them hard as stone.

"What are you talking about?" He wasn't yelling at her anymore. He was too baffled for anger.

"You KILLED them!"

"What?"

"All those people! You murdered them by the hundreds!"

He backed away from her in disbelief.

"Are you talking about the people I destroyed in the stadium? But... we wished them back! _I wished them back!_ You heard me do it! How can you still be angry at me for-"  
"You let the evil take over! You turned into something so horrible…" Suddenly her face crumpled, and she bowed her head. Vegeta felt his stomach turn into ice.

"But I…"

"I can't get that out of my head. That image of you. Your face… You were so evil. I can't stand it. Having to see you now. Having to _sleep_ with you? No. I want you gone. I don't ever want to see-" She was cut off by a sharp gasp. Vegeta felt a stabbing pain burning through his chest. She couldn't _stand_ him anymore? His own wife? She had taken him in, when no one else would. She had shown him other things besides violence. Like love, and loyalty. They had a child together. _She was the only person that_ _ **loved**_ _him. How_ could she not want to be with himnanymore? Where would he go?

"Wait...Bulma. What... How…?" He looked at her, the pain growing worse. This pain was physical. He didn't think it was possible, but somehow she had reached in, and twisted his heart. He blinked hard, fighting back tears. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, but it hitched short.

"I saved Earth. Doesn't that mean anything? I...brought everything back…" He had meant to yell the words at her, full of conviction. All of the heroic things he had done...surely they would cancel the evil out that he'd created. But the words came out soft, turning to ashes in his mouth. Bulma sighed and stepped closer to him. Her eyes looked wet. His heart skipped a beat. Was she forgiving him?

"It does mean something, Vegeta. And I am grateful. But...one action can't erase all that evil. Your eyes… you were like you had been years ago, when you first landed here. How can I trust that you won't do that again? How can I ever look into your eyes and find any kind of redemption there?"

Now Vegeta stood up straighter and clenched his fists.

"Redemption!? For god's sake, woman! I BURNED myself to ASHES to redeem myself! And as far as that pink sack of goo went, it didn't count for anything! But for my own soul, it counted for EVERYTHING!" The words flew at her boldly, but he wasn't sure if she even heard them.

"You are evil, and don't want you here anymore." Her eyes had turned cold again, and her voice didn't even sound real. Vegeta swallowed a lump in his throat. He could feel the prick of hot tears, and he blinked, not even trying to hold them back.

"I can't believe you are saying all this right now. You _know_ I'm not evil, Bulma. We...you… You married me, for hell's sake… What about Trunks? I'm not going to just leave him. I don't know what's going on here but…" He tried to get closer to her, and more tears slid down his cheeks.

"Bulma, what about _us?_ You've _always_ believed in me. You never thought I was evil before. Please...why are you-" He put his hand on hers and leaned in close.

"You are my mate, and I lo-" Like lightning, her hand whipped out, slapping him hard on the face. It stung more than it should have, and he stumbled back with a gasp.

"None of that matters now! I don't love you anymore, and I want you GONE! RIGHT NOW!" She turned around and marched out of the arena, leaving him stunned. He stood there for a few minutes after that, breathing hard. Every lungful of air felt like fire. He reached up to his face to wipe more tears away, and found that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to fall onto his knees and scream. This just couldn't be happening. What had possessed her to suddenly want him to leave after all of these years? Had the dark Majin in him really scared her that badly? Didn't she know that he wasn't himself when that happened?

After what felt like a long time, he finally pulled himself together. He would find out what was going on. There was something behind all this, and he wasn't about to leave his own home and family, just because she had told him to. He would talk to Trunks. Surely, whatever this was, it was only his mother that was affected.

Despite what Bulma said, Vegeta didn't even try to leave. He took a cold shower, even though he rushed through it, anxious to get some answers. He pulled on his clothes slowly, letting himself ruminate over what to say to Trunks. It's not like he could just march up to the boy and demand to know why his mother wanted him gone. Trunks might not even know what was happening. He was used to his parents yelling at each other. However… he let out a frustrated breath. No matter how mad she had gotten at him, she had never told him to leave. She knew as well has he did that he didn't have any other home to go to. He had left for training before, even to other planets, but it was always an unspoken rule that he would be back. Even when she had been pregnant with Trunks, he was gone a long time. The two of them hadn't resumed their fling when he returned, in fact, she had been a little cold with him. But he had come back just the same. Capsule Corp was the only home he had ever known. And he would fight to stay here and make her see reason...

As he made his way out of the bedroom, he still had his doubts. He'd glanced at the bed while he was changing. She had said that she couldn't stand him anymore. Even to sleep with him. He swallowed hard. He enjoyed having her close. If he stayed here, against her will, and she shrank back from every touch, every kiss...he wouldn't be able to take it. He had to be able to make love to his own wife. They even talked about the idea of having another baby. How could she abandon him like this? Then, a new thought sprang up in his head. Could there be someone else? What kind of a man would risk his life to be with Bulma, the wife of Vegeta? He growled under his breath. There was just no way.

He went outside of the compound, following Trunks's chi. He didn't feel Bulma's anywhere close by, and this thought both worried him and brought relief. At least he could talk to his son by himself, and figure out some things. When he spotted his lavender hair, he stopped short.

"Trunks." He said the boy's name firmly, almost like he was in trouble. He couldn't let on how confused and bewildered he was feeling at the moment. The boy turned around. Vegeta searched his face carefully. He looked startled, and was that fear…? The pit of his stomach burned. She had gotten to him first.

"Dad? What are you doing here? I thought you...left." Now he looked a little upset. Vegeta knelt down so he could be face to face with him.

"Trunks," he said again. "What did your mother tell you? Did she give you a reason why she wants me to leave?" The boy's bright blue eyes averted his, looking at the ground.

"She...she thinks that you're...bad now…" He looked close to tears. Vegeta growled softly.

"But you can't believe that. I know you don't." He pulled him by the shoulders, giving him a little shake.

"Listen, Trunks. I did do some bad things before I fought with Buu, but I was being controlled. I wasn't myself. Remember that ugly little green man?"

"Yeah, Babidi?"

"Yes. He took over my mind, and made me...It wasn't me…" There was a deep silence for a moment and he could feel his son's body shaking. He was giving in. He wrapped his arms around the small child and pulled him close.

"I could never leave this place. No matter how mad your mother is at me. Maybe for a few days, until she cools down, but-" His breath exploded out of him as he felt something hard ram into his gut. Taken aback, he pulled away from Trunks, only to find the same hardness in those blue eyes that had been in Bulma's moments before. He put his hand on his firm belly. _How the hell could he have hit that hard?_ He wondered. _That felt like one of Kakarrot's punches. And why would he sucker punch me? I raised him to respect me more than that._ He stood up straight, and was getting ready to scold the boy, when he flew at him again. He tried to block this time, but Trunks was too fast. He grabbed his father's fist with one hand, and brought his knee up into his lower gut. The force of it rocked through him. It was unbelievably painful. His mind reeled. _How could this be happening? Was his whole damn family turning against him? Would Bulma's parents be next?_ He was starting to feel sick and dizzy with the implications of it. This was a nightmare.

Trunks beat him again, and again, relentless. Soon, they were up in the air. Every blast, kick or punch sent him further away from the compound. He tried to speak, but his breath was knocked out of him. He tried to strike back, but he was blocked every time. Even when he tried to gather his chi to blast Trunks away, he felt it draining away from him. Eventually, after being beaten mercilessly, Vegeta swallowed his pride and turned away. He put on a burst of speed with power that hadn't been there until now. Without looking back, he fled further and further from his son. When he couldn't feel the boy's chi anymore, he kept flying. He had no idea where to go. He flew until he could see the mountains surrounding the city, then he was flying through them. He didn't have anywhere to go, and his mind was frantic. Maybe he could go to Kakarrot's. But what if…? A feeling of despair lanced through him. Everyone hated him. He was suddenly as sure of that as the sun. They had seen what was hidden in him all this time, and they were repulsed now. He would never have friends or family again. He would be alone, just like before. He felt the world closing in on him. Everything was spinning. But he wanted to keep flying. Get as far away from everyone he had ever cared about. Just move...just...fly...away…keep...moving…

Vegeta gasped. His body jack-knifed, and he was suddenly in the dark. He panted, his heart thumping hard. The air felt close, and everything was black. He sat still for a moment, realizing that he was in a bed. Who's house was this? Had he found somewhere to go? Why wasn't he on a mountain top somewhere? Suddenly, there was a dim light in the corner of his eye, and he heard a soft click. Bulma blinked at him sleepily. Her short hair was a mess, and she rubbed at her eyes. He could see her brows coming together with concern.

"Vegeta?" She whispered. He continued to pant, feeling a thin film of sweat forming on his brow. She moved closer and reached out her small hand.

"What's the matter, babe? Did you have another nightmare?" Her fingers pushed into his damp hair, and she gave it a couple of strokes. She sounded so warm, compared to when he last heard her voice. Her eyes were soft, there was no anger in them now. When she continued to stroke his hair, his heart rate slowed. He was starting to realize it had been a dream. A horrible, hideous dream. He would rather relive being shot through the heart by Freeza than what he had just been through. He swallowed hard, clenching his teeth on a strangled sound that was rising out of his throat. Bulma moved closer to him, and slid into his lap. She took his face in her hands and watched him as he struggled.

"Shh...it's okay, my prince." She pulled his head toward her breast and he sank into her. He could feel his body starting to let go, and he was afraid. He really just wanted to sob into her chest, but he couldn't let himself. He was a man, not some baby. It was as dream after all. Not reality. She really loved him.

He snapped his head up, then jumped off the bed in one quick motion. He was out the sliding door and onto the balcony before he realized he was naked. He shrugged off the surprise and lifted himself onto the roof. He had be alone to gather his thoughts.

Fifteen minutes in the brisk autumn wind brought him some clarity. It was the middle of the night, the stars were bright, and he was naked on the roof. After having a nightmare that his wife no longer loved him, and his eight-year-old son had kicked him out. He shook his head in disgust. He couldn't believe he had been about to let Bulma console him about something as ridiculous as that. But even so, he could still see her face in his mind. The angry burning eyes. The way she had said "I don't love you anymore," and "You are evil." He still felt the pain burning in his chest, radiating down to his gut. He put his head in his hands. Then he heard the sliding door opening again. He didn't remember shutting it. Footsteps on the balcony, then the sound of hands slapping against the metal of the rungs. She was coming up to him. He sat there, suddenly wanting to cover himself. Bulma had seen his naked body many times, but right now he felt humiliated, and being naked made it that much worse. When he saw the top of her head, his stomach clenched. Then her face peered up at him. She climbed the last couple of rungs, and he noticed a blanket tied around her. Besides that, she was only wearing a thin silk nightgown. She crawled over to him, and without hesitation, she pulled the blanket from herself and draped it over his shoulders. He made a small sound of thanks, but felt his throat close again. It would be awhile before he could talk. Instead, he let her lean into him and they looked at the sky, studded with silver stars. When she started talking before him, he felt his muscles relax at the sound of her soft voice. There was something about the sound of it that had a power all on its own, and he loved her for it.

"I've been having nightmares too." She said after a while. It was quiet for a moment, but he was too curious. What could someone like her be afraid of? She had everything he never had.

"About?" The word was soft. He still looked at the stars and distant planets, remembering them all. He hadn't realized before now that he had been to this galaxy, but there were some familiar things about it that he knew from his youth. Most of those planets, a few light years away from Earth, were dusty ghost towns now. He was squinting at a distant blue one when he realized how quiet she was. He turned slowly toward her. She was huddled against him for warmth, her face on his shoulder. When she noticed him looking at her, she sighed.

"I don't know if I should tell you." She sounded ashamed. Vegeta knew then, and the thought lanced through him.

"Majin." Was all he had to whisper, and he felt her shudder against him.

"Bulma…" He whispered. "Are you...afraid of me now?" He hated the despair he couldn't filter out of his voice. Her head moved slowly, and he felt her breath on his face. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and sighed into his thick hair.

"No, Vegeta… No." His body relaxed at this, and he brought his own arms up, running his hands along her back. His hands slid up and down the pale silk for a few moments, then he let out a breath.

"I wouldn't blame you, if you were." He said, huskily.

"I've never been afraid of you, love. I knew in my heart that there was something wrong. That you were not yourself." She pulled back and looked into his dark eyes. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, but if she noticed it, she didn't say anything.

"Do you know how long I've loved you?" He shook his head, any words he might have said were stuck in his throat.

"The moment you put on that stupid pink shirt." She laughed against his neck. "The way you thundered out of that bathroom all bewildered, but you still believed me when I said it was the style, and everyone was wearing them. And then later, how you still looked like you owned the world, even in those ridiculous clothes. A sullen prince in yellow pants...oh, I just couldn't resist you." She looked at him again, and when he remained silent, she pressed her lips against his. He pressed back, letting out a groan. Her kiss after that dream was as welcome as a gallon of spring water after he'd been training. When she pulled back, he could feel himself smiling, and Bulma smiled back, pushing her finger into his dimple.

"So...I told you what my dream was about…" His smile fell, and Bulma's brows furrowed. He looked away, pensive again.

"Ooh...that bad, huh?" She still sounded cheerful, and he knew she wouldn't be angry, but he just couldn't bring himself to talk about it.

"It's just the past again…" He replied, brushing it off. She was quiet and he knew she didn't believe him, but she still sat with him for awhile. It got colder outside, and soon he could feel her climbing into his lap. Her hands were in his hair and she started kissing him deeply.

"I...love you...so much…" she whispered fervently. He broke away from her, looked her in the eyes, then kissed her forehead soundly with an affectionate growl. She giggled with delight. Then he pushed up off the cold roof, still holding her in his arms. He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Let's go have some hot sex, woman."

The next morning, he woke up to find her partway underneath him. He had rolled off a little, so he wouldn't crush her with his heavy muscles, but as he pulled away more, he realized that he was still inside of her. The idea made him a little hard, and, even though she was asleep, he started touching her again. She arched into him and moaned in her dreams. After a few quick strokes of his hips, her eyes fluttered open, just as he was reaching a swift climax. It always happened fast in the morning. He panted a little and pushed his face into her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, barely awake. After a moment, he heard her breathing slow down and even out again. The sun was barely up, and they had spent the early hours of the morning making love until they had collapsed from exhaustion. He considered his sex life with Bulma another form of training. Smiling to himself, he bent down and kissed her softly.

"My princess…" he murmured into her ear. The corners of her mouth twitched up in her sleep, and he ruffled her teal hair fondly. He stretched his whole body out with a groan, then pulled away from her, stomach growling. He'd let her sleep and forage for himself. He was used to it. She was a terrible cook. As he pulled his shorts on, he gave her one last look before she left. Gratefulness for her unconditional love surged through him. He had nothing to worry about.

Down in the kitchen, Trunks was just finishing his breakfast.

"Great hairy Oozaru, boy! You're up before me! What an accomplishment!" His son laughed at the mention of the great ape.

"Well," he said around a mouthful of egg, "I had some stuff to do. I couldn't go back to sleep."

Vegeta nodded as he sat down. He was proud of the work ethic he was instilling in the boy. Someone had to. Bulma just did things the way she did them, goalless and sometime meaningless, like her cooky father. Scientists were a bunch of weirdos, as far as the Saiyan prince was concerned. He only had a moment longer to think about it before a large platter of meat and eggs was placed softly down in front of him. He looked up just in time to see Mrs. Brief wink a rare blue eye at him. They were the exact same color as Bulma's. He twitched the corner of his mouth up and she was bustling away again, humming. It was the only thanks she needed from him. He liked that about Bulma's parents. As strange as they were, they had always accepted him. They never asked him to be different, or expected him to act a certain way. They just welcomed him into their home, mass murderer that he was. Granted, he wasn't sure they knew that about him, but even if they did, their Bulma picked him for her husband, and that was good enough.

Trunks smiled over at him, and Vegeta remembered the dream again. His son's blue eyes had only warmth and respect for him in them, even when he gave his shoulder a friendly swat before leaving the table. Vegeta poked him with his fork, and laughter exploded from his eight-year old body as he dashed away. The Saiyan prince couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He felt more relaxed now than he ever had in his life. When he was halfway through his breakfast, he heard Bulma's slippered feet coming down the stairs, and she shuffled over to the coffee machine. She greeted her mother sleepily and pushed her hand through her crazy morning hair. It stuck up on one side just like Trunks's. She sat down, and the two of them shared the space comfortably. He could feel her reaching out to his chi, and he communicated back to hers in content overtones. Mrs. Brief sat down and fussed over Bulma, trying to get her to have more than coffee for breakfast. She relented, only to have something that looked like cake, and Vegeta grunted and nudged her with his foot under the table. It always annoyed him when she didn't take care of herself the way he respected his own body. Without even looking up at him, Bulma took a piece of bacon and placed it on the dainty cake. Then she smiled cheekily over at him. He cocked an eyebrow to her, than surprising both her and her mother, he jammed his fork into her cake and took a huge piece of it, then dropped it onto his meat. They both laughed, and he just rolled his eyes at them, feeling like a cock in a hen house. He savored the feeling. This was his home. These people were his family. It would stay that way for as long as they were alive, and he wasn't planning on taking it for granted. Ever.


End file.
